


Stitch in Time

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had to admit, grudgingly, that Keller did good work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitch in Time

**Author's Note:**

> For sheafrotherdon, because painkillers make her a wee bit loopy, in the hopes that she will feel a little better.

John had to admit, grudgingly, that Keller did good work—small neat stitches, black against skin that was stained faintly yellow from iodine and bruises. She'd caught the internal bleeding before it had time to get serious, fixed what was broken; even given Rodney a sunny smile when he came round, though she'd been awake for nearly as long as John. Good enough for John.

She gave out the good drugs, too; not with as free a hand as Carson, maybe, but a couple of Percocet later, and Rodney was feeling no pain.

John knew this because Rodney blinked at him when he woke up later that morning; and when John said "Welcome back, buddy," Rodney said "Colonel, I am _feeling no pain_." His words had the kind of too-serious enunciation that came with pain and narcotics, with being beyond exhaustion and through the other side. It sat strangely with Rodney, this earnestness without fire, the blurred and diffuse focus; the hand which wasn't weighed down with an IV moved languidly, gesturing at his side where the knife had caught him.

"The scar should be cool, huh?" Rodney said. "Ronon can run really fast, even when he's carrying me. I was over his shoulder, too!" He made to gesture over his shoulder, as if to re-enact Ronon's desperate run for the gate, but halted it suddenly and said "Ow" when that pulled at the needle in the back of his hand. John found that he didn't want to think about these things too closely; instead reaching out to capture Rodney's hand in his, pulling it down to rest on the bed.

"Your skin is warm," Rodney said, looking at John and at the play of morning light on the ceiling, at the far wall of the infirmary, where heated water bubbled up through pipes, "I kind of like it. It's, it's... _thing_." He twined his fingers with John, flexing and relaxing them slightly in time with his breathing. It was soothing in a way John didn't want to think about overly much, but he let his spine relax anyway, slumping down in his seat and leaning a little against the side of Rodney's bed. It had been a long day, a longer night, and John was tired.

Rodney drifted for a little while, playing with John's fingers. John made no attempt to stop him, because he was so tired, and it was soothing, and anyway, none of the nurses could see their hands. He was almost boneless when Rodney stopped, suddenly, and beamed up at him; that wide-open, unconditional grin that always made John's breath hitch. "Hi," Rodney said, "You, I _like_ you, John, really, I'm really rather fond." He squeezed John's hand a little, and was asleep, instantly, chest rising and falling gently beneath the thin fabric of his scrubs.

"Fond, huh" John echoed, after a while; there was no one there to hear him, but he was a little wondering, a little pleased. Rodney slept, and John kept watch, watched until he was ready to wake.


End file.
